


Respite

by JazzhandsMcLeg



Series: Amara "One-Punch" Jones [2]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Game: Destiny 2: Season of Arrivals, Gen, featuring my Guardian and her Ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25290496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzhandsMcLeg/pseuds/JazzhandsMcLeg
Summary: Heroes are people, too. A brief look at Eris and a Guardian/a Guardian and her Ghost in two quiet moments post-Contact.
Relationships: Female Guardian & Eris Morn, Female Guardian & Ghost (Destiny)
Series: Amara "One-Punch" Jones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832206
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Eris and Amara

**Author's Note:**

> Writing music: [ Ubi Caritas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xxu7XuElJ9g), by Ola Gjeilo.

Eris can always feel when Amara breaks through Savathûn’s deceptions and finally, resolutely, approaches the Tree. She has no Light, not anymore: the Darkness settles into her pores, stings her eyes, swirls in and out of her lungs when she breathes, and she has nothing to combat it even if and when she wants to. But her senses have not dimmed, and Amara is—like a sunrise in the middle of the night. More than that—down here, hemmed in by ancient Ionian stone and washed by Darkness and Light alike, the Titan’s brightness of spirit is like shining a lamp into a series of mirrors: reflective, refractive, unpredictable and multiplicative. It makes translation a little difficult, yes, but not yet so difficult that she wants to lose what small, temporary access she has to the Light.

And perhaps Amara knows that, because every week, after Eris wrings what little information she can out of the Seed, she sits cross-legged in the dirt and waits for Eris to join her. And every week, after only a little hesitation—she knows how busy her friend must be—Eris does so.

Amara has said more to her in the past few months than in all fifteen years she knew her before the Red War—even considering those nascent years before the Black Garden—and she still isn’t very talkative. But she makes an effort. She knows what pieces of Tower gossip will appeal to her, what to say about the Hunters’ doings and the curse on the Dreaming City. Her voice is steady, still soft but not as harsh as it used to be. Sometimes Eris closes her eyes to listen to it, setting her own voice free as she answers.

The younger woman never stays longer than an hour at the absolute most. If keeping Eris company is something Amara has decided she will do, Eris will not argue, but that does not mean there are no other matters to attend to. Their farewell is simple, bereft of a Titan’s typical displays of physical affection: Eris’ personal space requirements increased drastically upon the loss of her fireteam years ago, and have never really recovered. But here and now she allows—even looks forward to—Amara’s gentle, brief press of a hand to her elbow. Then she looks away as her friend calls to her Ghost.

And then Amara Jones is gone.


	2. Amara and Clementine

Neither Amara nor Clementine relax even a little until they are safely ensconced in their ship and headed for the Last City. Then, slowly, minute by minute, she lowers her shields. The air feels strange on her bare face after she’s emitted so much Light—cool but stale, rather than warm and rarified. She breathes it in as Clementine tentatively reappears in realspace to hover beside her. Every week they get farther and farther from Io before he feels safe enough to do so. The thought sends a shiver up her spine.

It will be hours before they reach Earth, never mind the City. Amara pulls her feet up into the pilot’s seat with her, smearing holy dust onto the upholstery. She has to wrap her arms around her calves to keep them there. This hardly disobliges her.

The Red War. Sagira. Inside the Pyramid. She’d always kept going before, even when Clementine... And she’d never had to ask him what he thought. She’d known. Now, though, she’s afraid. If she asked and he answered...

Exhaustion drapes itself over her like a heavy blanket. She closes her eyes, but she’s worrying too hard to sleep. She doesn’t say anything, though, barely even twitches, when Clementine comes to hover so closely that he bumps her throat and jaw: the presence of her Ghost could never startle her.

“Hey,” he says quietly, _normally._

Amara sighs. “Hey.” Her own voice is anything but. They pass despair back and forth like relay runners.

Clementine drifts forward. After a moment, a wave of gentle, reciprocal warmth washes over her. A little of the pressure eases.

Amara doesn’t need to open her eyes to know what Clementine is doing, but she does anyway. Her Ghost’s Light, uncolored by Void or Arc or Solar, no longer hidden by his shell, is beautiful even through the blur of her nascent tears.

“One at a time,” he reminds her.

“I know.”

The rest of the ride is quiet. When they land, it’s the middle of the night, and the Tower is as empty as Amara has ever seen it. She walks slowly from the hangars to their room, doing her best not to look at the open air above the City. Clementine lets them in; she changes and falls into bed by the glow of a single lamp. Tomorrow will come soon, and she will need to meet it.


End file.
